we are never done with thinking about our parents, I suppose, and come to know them better long after they are dead than we ever did when they were alive.

A good marriage shuts out a very great deal.

What is there to do when people die - people so dear and rare - but bring them back by remembering?

Once more I realize that solitude is my element, and the reason is that extreme awareness of other people (all naturally solitary people must feel this) precludes awareness of one's self, so after a while the self no longer knows that it exists.

When I am alone the flowers are really seen; I can pay attention to them. They are felt as presences. Without them I would die...they change before my eyes. They live and die in a few days; they keep me closely in touch with the process, with growth, and also with dying. I am floated on their moments.

In the country of pain we are each alone.

letters are so much easier than living. One can give one's best.